


Interrupted Night

by JohnAmendAll



Category: Doctor Who (1963), Sapphire and Steel
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-14
Updated: 2012-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 08:59:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a midnight visitor in Liz Shaw's bedroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interrupted Night

Liz came awake suddenly, but something told her to keep still. Cautiously, she half-opened her eyes. It was still night, with only a faint gleam of moonlight around the shuttered window. In the darkness, the bedroom was a jumble of shadows, which could have concealed a dozen intruders. 

She listened, and once more heard the sound that had woken her. The noises were subdued, almost stealthy, but they were definitely coming from under her bed. 

Moving as little as possible, Liz leaned across and retrieved the candle and tinderbox from beside the bed. After a couple of tries, she succeeded in lighting first one, then the other. The dim, flickering light revealed that the bedroom hadn't changed since the previous night — the low, beamed ceiling was unchanged, none of the few pieces of oak furniture had been moved, and the one and only door was still closed. 

Liz picked up the candle, wriggled to the edge of the bed, and peered down. There certainly was someone there, and her half-suspicions about who it might be seemed to be on the money; a well-shod leg, clad in grey, was protruding from under the bed. 

"I thought it was you," she said. 

There was a brief scuffling noise, the leg was withdrawn, and Silver's head appeared. 

"Did I disturb you?" he asked politely. 

"You woke me, if that's what you meant." Liz rubbed her eyes. "Silver, it's the middle of the night. Don't you sleep?" 

"Not as a rule." 

"Well, I do. And I was." She set the candle down on the oak stool which she'd pressed into service as a bedside table. "If it was anyone else creeping into my bedroom at this time of night, I'd have screamed the place down by now. Or whacked them over the head with something heavy, for preference. Maybe I'm too trusting, but if it's you poking around under my bed, I think you might just have a good reason to. Would you care to tell me what it is?" 

Silver's face settled into a very familiar expression: the one that he used when he was about to discuss one of his areas of expertise and he was sure she wouldn't understand. "As it happens, I'm looking for space." 

"There's space everywhere. What's special about the bit under my bed?" 

"It has to be the right sort of space." 

"I suppose that makes as much sense as anything else you've said." Liz stifled a yawn. "Couldn't you have waited until tomorrow?" 

"Wait?" It was clear from Silver's expression that the thought hadn't crossed his mind. "I want to try it now. Anyway, there's no need for you to—" 

"To worry my pretty little head about it? Thank you very much." Liz climbed out of the bed and began to pull on her shoes. "I've woken up now. If you're going to disturb my sleep, you're going to have to put up with me for the rest of the night." She caught a glimpse of herself in the small, cracked mirror that hung on the wall, and winced. Spending any length of time in Silver's immaculate company made her worry that her clothes were ill-fitting and her hair was a mess, but this time the mirror was providing concrete evidence of both sentiments. "Carry on down there while I dress and sort myself out." 

Silver disappeared once more under the bed, reminding Liz irrelevantly of a ferret in hot pursuit of a rabbit. Then she threw on the clothes she'd worn yesterday and made the best stab she could at reducing her hair to order, given the flickering candlelight and the primitive comb. 

"Finished?" Silver asked, from behind her. 

She was positive that he couldn't have emerged from under the bed without her seeing him, let alone crossed the room. But then, impossible events seemed to be par for the course where Silver was concerned. She turned to face him, noting that his suit was just as impeccably clean and tidy as usual. His explorations under the bed had not left so much as a mark or a grain of dust on his clothes. 

"Ready when you are," she said. 

\- * -

Silver scooped up what appeared to be a half-brick from the ground at his feet, and rolled it between his hands like so much dough. As he did so, light shone between his fingers, pale at first, but rapidly brightening. 

"Here," he said, holding out what was now a glowing orb. "Does that help?" 

"I think so." Liz took the globe from him; despite its brightness, it felt cold to the touch. She held it up, bathing the stableyard in its greenish radiance. 

The yard was neither the most salubrious place to be, nor the easiest to negotiate at this time of night. If Liz had been on her own, she'd never have managed to pick her way between the various potholes, rubble-strewn pathways, broken fragments of defunct wagons and noisome heaps without, at the very least, heavy boots and a good strong torch. Even now, by the light of the globe, it didn't look inviting. 

"What are we looking for here?" she asked. "Space, again?" 

"That's right." Silver ran his hand over the nearest wall, then produced something that looked suspiciously like the Doctor's sonic screwdriver from his jacket pocket. He briefly aimed it at a crack barely wide enough for an ant, and nodded. "There's a little here. I'll bear it in mind, if I don't find anything better." 

He set off across the yard, with Liz in reluctant pursuit. She'd had a half-formed idea that if she trod in his footprints, that would keep her clear of potholes or other hazards. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to be leaving any. 

"What's so special about this space you're trying to find?" she asked, hoping to distract herself from thoughts about what she might tread in. 

"I don't believe you could properly grasp the concept," he replied. 

"Try me." 

Silver came to a halt so suddenly that she almost bumped into him, and turned to face her. Lit from below by the orb she was carrying, his face looked inhuman, and terribly ancient. 

He put his hands on her shoulders. "You're a remarkable person, Doctor Shaw. But you're still human." 

"And?" 

"That means you're part of this world. How would you like to explain water to a fish?" 

Liz leaned slightly forward. "I'm not a fish. I'm a scientist. I don't have to touch or see something to understand it." 

"Very well." Again, she had the impression that he might have been talking to an eager child. "I need to get us back to the year you came from, and I need to do it without weakening the fabric of time. To do that, I need to place a — well, 'device' is the best term — somewhere in the world. Somewhere where it won't get in the way for three hundred years." 

Liz considered the question. "Couldn't you just make some space? You were talking about that wall just now. What's stopping you taking out a few stones?" 

"Who knows? A hundred and fifty years from where we are, something might depend on one of those stones being exactly where it is now. I know you mean well, Doctor Shaw, but this task requires expertise you don't have." 

"And there's no way I can ever be taught it, I suppose." 

To her surprise, he hesitated, seemingly caught between a convenient lie and an awkward truth. 

"Actually..." he said, not meeting her eye. 

"You mean there is?" 

"In theory." Silver looked reluctant. "We can share our powers with humans, if it's deemed necessary to complete an assignment." 

"I presume there's a 'but'?" Liz tried to read the answer in his face. "Would it burn out my brain?" 

"The chances of that particular situation are fairly small." 

"Well, I think it's worth the risk," Liz countered. "You want to avoid damage to the fabric of time, don't you? Aren't we causing damage just by being here? Perhaps that's why you couldn't wait till morning to look for the right sort of space." 

He still didn't meet her gaze. "Maybe." 

"And if what I've said is right, wouldn't we get on faster with two of us looking?" 

Unexpectedly, Silver smiled. "You aren't going to give in, are you?" 

"I don't, as a rule." 

"Then as long as you promise not to dribble on my jacket—" 

" **What?** " 

Silver's smile broadened. "You know I said brain damage wasn't a likely outcome? This is much more likely. When humans see the Universe as it really is, they have a dreadful tendency to let their mouths hang open and dribble." 

"I certainly won't do that," Liz said. 

"Then close your eyes." 

Liz obediently closed her eyes, and felt him place his hands on her temples. A blaze of pearly luminescence erupted in her head, and her legs buckled under her. Falling helplessly, she forced her eyes open and, just for a second, saw the world as he did. 

\- * -

She was being held, not particularly vertically, in Silver's arms, and her senses seemed to be returning from an infinite distance. 

"I hope you're satisfied," the familiar voice said, from somewhere simultaneously in her ear and lightyears away. "And what did I say about letting your mouth hang open?" 

Liz closed hers, sharply, and opened her eyes, to see Silver looking down at her. 

"Humans aren't my area of expertise, you know. If there's any permanent damage don't come running to me to repair it." 

"Wouldn't dream of it," Liz said, relieved to find she could still speak. "I suppose fainting is one of the outcomes you didn't bother to tell me about. I should have asked more questions." 

"You're assuming I'd have answered them. Who knows? Perhaps I've been trying to lure you into my arms all along." 

Liz gave him a severe look. "I don't think so. If it was me you were after, there wouldn't be any need to drag me out here. The bedroom would have been more convenient. Quite apart from the fact that I'm a human and you — well, you call yourself an Element, don't you? What would we do, share electrons?" 

"I daresay any difficulties in that line could be overcome," Silver said. "In fact, the problem presents certain intriguing lines of thought..." 

"I still don't believe a word of it." 

"You're very sure of your conclusions, aren't you? Supposing you were—" 

He kissed her, suddenly, on the forehead. 

"—wrong?" 

"I," Liz began. Her head was tingling where he'd kissed her. "I'd reconsider my theory. That is, in the light of the new evidence, depending what..." She realised she was babbling, and pulled herself together. "Shouldn't we be trying to get back to the Twentieth Century?" 

He set her on her feet and carefully let go of her, as if checking she could stand unaided. "Practical as ever." 

"I suggest we try the hayloft," Liz said, pointing. 

"Any particular reason?" 

"I caught a glimpse of it just before I passed out. It looked — promising, I suppose. Or were you hoping for a roll in the hay?" 

Silver smirked. "I think we know each other better than that, by now." 

\- * -

Liz and Silver were balancing on one of the crossbeams in the roof of the hayloft. Between them was a vertical crown post, which Liz was using to steady herself. To anybody standing below, the pair might have resembled figures on a rood screen. 

"All aboard," Silver said, and flung his arms wide. The shimmering, iridescent haze between his hands expanded into a delicate web of light, surrounding them both. In the space outside the web, the hayloft faded from sight. Almost at once, it was replaced by a cavernous tunnel full of shadowy human figures, their outlines waxing and waning in a dim radiance that had no source. 

"Shouldn't be long before we're back in your time," Silver remarked casually. "Then it's just a matter of patching up the breach, and we're all done." He glanced across at Liz. "Why don't I drop you off a day or so before we get there? Just to make sure you're well out of harm's way." 

"That's very considerate of you," Liz said. "Is that for my own safety, or is this a polite way of letting me know I'd get under your feet?" 

"I'd prefer that the work I put in to retrieve you wasn't wasted. That's all." 

"I'm half inclined to accuse you of getting sentimental." 

She felt his right hand close over her left, which she was still using to steady herself on the post. 

"That would be quite impossible for me," he said. 

Liz raised her eyebrows. "As impossible as it would be for you to make a mistake?" 

"Exactly. Anyway, I've made up my mind, and you can believe whatever you like about my reasons." He patted her hand. "Goodbye, Elizabeth." 

There was a momentary discontinuity, and Liz was alone on the beam. Below her, moonlight was shining into the room. The hay, pitchforks, barrels and sacks were gone; the hayloft was now laid out as a workshop, its benches laden with neat stacks of electronic components and test apparatus. It seemed that she was, indeed, back in her own time. 

"Goodbye," she said, though there was nobody there to hear her. 

She lowered herself from the beam and dropped to the floor, wondering what would be the best way to get out of here. Possibly, if there was a telephone in the building, she ought to call UNIT — but then, she'd have to tell them all about Silver, and something in her shrank from that. 

_Infuriating man,_ she thought. _He's just as hard to get out of your system as the metal would be._

She groped her way to where she remembered the door had been, five minutes and three hundred years before. It was, of course, locked. She reviewed her options again: call for help, or... try to climb out of the window, she supposed, and hope she didn't injure herself in the process. It was obvious what the sensible course of action was — and equally obvious that she wasn't going to take it. 

_I suppose the metal would be worse,_ she thought, halfway out of the window. _He's got under my skin, but at least an overdose of him doesn't turn it blue._

She looked down at her hand where it was gripping the windowsill. In the moonlight, it looked pale, almost like silver itself. 

_... I hope._


End file.
